


My Brother Dean

by flannelfeelings



Series: A Day in the life of Winchester [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Action, Angst, BAMF Dean Winchester, Bittersweet Ending, Blood, Brotherly Love, Caring Sam Winchester, Comfort, Dean Saves The Day, Dean Winchester - Freeform, Dean Winchester Has Self-Worth Issues, Fluff, Hero Dean Winchester, Hurt, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, I love you dean winchester you pure soul, Insecurity, John Winchester Being an Asshole, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Kid Sam Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester - Freeform, Shapeshifter, Sibling Love, Supernatural - Freeform, Teenage Dean Winchester, Violence, Winchester Childhood, Young Dean Winchester, Young Winchesters, as always, fluff/angst, no one good dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 16:34:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20763488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flannelfeelings/pseuds/flannelfeelings
Summary: It's 1995 and the Winchester boys are staying in another shitty little town while their dad hunts down a pesky Shapeshifter.When things take a turn for the worst, it's up to Dean to protect Sammy.What else is new?





	My Brother Dean

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Just a little drabble i wrote after getting sibling feels. Dean has spent so much of his life taking care of others, and that hurts to think about sometimes. The way they were raised was so fucked up. Here's to the small Winchester victories!
> 
> Enjoy, sorry if it's not completely canon compliant- i wasn't really trying hard to make it so. 
> 
> Hope you like!

Dean was proud of his brother.

They moved around a lot, constantly changing their environments and schools. Sometimes, Dean’s grades slipped. Sometimes, the pressure of taking care of his brother, worrying about their father, researching monsters until midnight and then getting up at 6AM to do it all over, was exhausting. And it got to him. Sometimes...he pulled D’s, and even a few F's in school.

But never Sammy.

Sam was a straight A student through and through. He studied hard, listened in class, hell, he even went to tutoring when he didn’t understand something. Unlike Dean, Sam had hope and drive for something more than crappy motel rooms and bloodied leather jackets. He had dreams. And more than anything, Dean wanted him to achieve them.

“Dean, why don’t you care about school?” Sam had asked one afternoon as he looked up from his history textbook.

Dean snorted, picking up their father’s journal and brandishing it quickly, “This is all the studyin’ I need kid.”

“But you’re a junior.” Sam argued, “This is the most important year for colleges to see.”

Dean sighed heavily, dreading the conversation that was to come. He’d known Sam would ask about this eventually. Where Dean was going after high school, what he wanted to be when he grew up. Sam knew about the hunting and the monsters, but he didn’t know that Dean planned to follow in their father’s footsteps. The kid had a lot of grand ideas; moving away to a cape-cod style house in Rhode Island, becoming a lawyer or a professor of law. Marrying and having kids that he could spoil. It was really a weird daydream for a 12 year old boy, but Dean understood. When you’ve been deprived of normalcy for so long, it starts to look like an unattainable fantasy.

“Sammy…” Dean’s voice was hesitant, trailing off, and Sam was instantly alerted.

“No Dean,” He snapped, “You’re going to college!”

“Don’t be stupid. I don’t need college. I’m gonna just stay with Dad.”

“Stay with…” Sam shook his head, chewing on the words for a moment, before he looked at Dean with disdain, “_Why_?! So you can live in dirty motels? So you can get yourself killed in some muddy forest while Dad barks orders at you?!”

“Knock it off Sam!” Dean shouted, shoving his chair back as he stood. The screech of the chair on the motel tile made them both cringe, but Sam didn’t back down.

“I know that’s not what you want Dean.” The younger boy insisted desperately, “Please don’t give up on your future.”

Dean marched forward and grabbed Sam by the shirt, yanking him close, “Sam, you don’t _know_ anything. _Leave it alone_.” He shoved his brother forward roughly, and Sam stumbled into the couch, looking hurt.

Dean sighed, shaking his head, “I’m going out.”

“Dean-”

“Keep the door locked. I’ll be back soon.”

And that was it.

On his walk through the shitty little podunk town, Dean tried to think about anything other than his actual dreams. He focused on reality. Dad needed him. He had to do the job; make John proud.

When Dean returned to the hotel room later that night, neither of them brought it up again.

* * *

Four months later, the Winchester boys were about a month into another new school. Sam seemed to be enjoying it decently enough, and John assured them the hunt would only take a week or so, and they’d be able to lay low for a bit. The motel was pretty nice also. It actually had turn down service, and each door had a tiny little porch with an end table decorated with knickknacks. Very cutesy, so Sam liked it a lot.

John was hunting a shapeshifter, so he’d been knee-deep in research for quite a while by the time Dean found him passed out at the tiny metal table in the motel. Sam was sound asleep on the futon across the room, drool oozing out over his forearm.

Dean sat down across from his sleeping father, pretending he didn’t smell the potent stink of whiskey, and looked at the case files. The obituaries John had clipped were all of young teens, model citizens really. One was a three time debate club champion, another a varsity football player, and even a valedictorian. All killed by their “parents.”

Dean shuddered at their smiling faces in the photos, knowing they were now dead. Hopefully Dad found the thing quick, and killed it slow.

* * *

“It’s a stupid assignment!” Sam was whining to Dean a few days later as they waited at the bus stop down the road from their current school. Sam had been complaining to Dean for the past fifteen minutes about the essay his class had been assigned; a piece about someone you admire.

“That’s what you get for takin ’ AP English,” Dean rolled his eyes.

“I don’t know who to write about,” Sam admitted, huddling a little further into his well-worn green jacket as a bite of cold wind passed by. Dean shrugged out of his brown leather coat and threw it over Sam’s shoulders, glancing down the road as the bus began to appear.

“Write about Dad.” He said matter-of-factly, “He’s like the most badass person we know.”

Sam sighed softly, pulling Dean’s jacket around his shoulders tighter, “I guess.”

Dean rolled his eyes again as they loaded up on to the bus. It was about a mile walk from the bus stop to the motel they were staying at, and they stopped halfway at a mini mart to grab some provisions. John had left Dean with a crisp $20 to handle their dinner tonight, and lunch for tomorrow. He picked up some tomato soup, bread and cheese for dinner tonight, since this motel room actually had a tiny kitchenette with a stovetop. For lunch, he grabbed Sam a pre-wrapped sub with a fruit cup, and had enough left to get himself a bag of Doritos and a coke.

“That’s not lunch, Dean.” Sam chided as they walked back to the motel, arms loaded with grocery bags.

Dean touched the remaining 25 cents in his pocket from their haul, and snorted, “I’ll mooch off of Sydney Carst. Her mom packs her a fuckin’ buffet for lunch everyday and she’s always asking who wants some.”

Dean had never really talked to Sydney, so he definitely wasn’t about to ask her for food, but Sam didn’t need to know that. Sam didn’t need to be burdened with any worries. Sam had dinner tonight and lunch for tomorrow, and that was all Dean cared about.

Later that night, as Dean made the grilled cheeses and soup, Sam watched _Ren and Stimpy_ reruns on the futon. He’d made no headway on his report, which was unlike him. Usually he’d get his essays done the same night they were assigned. Dean’s own homework had gone neglected again, as he was more worried about making dinner and making sure Sam’s reading log got signed. His own handwriting had gotten so close to John’s, he’d managed to get Sam signed off on more field trips than he could count. He’d also sacrificed a few decent meals to make sure Sam had the ten dollars to attend them.

After both boys were showered and in bed with the lights off, Sam said into the darkness, “Hey, Dean?”

“Dude, go to sleep.”

“I just have a question.”

“What?”

“Have you sent in your registration for the SATs?” Sam’s voice was low, as if he knew this question would get him in trouble but braved asking it anyway.

Dean groaned loudly in annoyance, “Yeah, and then I went into the principal's office and asked her to plant one on me.”

The younger boy sighed quietly, “You’re smart Dean, you could pass with a great score. Then, who knows what you could d-”

“Sam, do me a solid and shut the fuck up, okay? I’m tired.”

Sammy sounded hurt when he replied, “Okay. Goodnight.”

He felt bad about being so harsh, but Sam needed to get it through his head that this was it for Dean. He wasn’t destined for an apple pie life where he got to work 9-5 and go camping with his kids on the weekends. Real camping, where he wasn’t afraid of Wendigos and he could make smores with a beautiful wife, who got his sense of humor.

But that wasn’t going to happen. And it served either of the boys any purpose to entertain ideas like that. 

* * *

Dean’s restless sleep was disturbed at around 2AM. He awoke sharply, jolting into a sitting position as the knob of the motel door turned slowly. His fingers crept under his pillow to wrap around the grip of the _Glock_ he kept tucked away there. He swallowed hard, eyes trained on the door.

His breath released slowly though, as his father stepped through into the room. He was burdened by his heavy clothing, and had some blood spattered across his flannel shirt and a cut across his face, but he was alive.

“Dad…” Dean whispered, alerting the older man’s attention. John smiled shortly, and nodded at his eldest son.

“Did you get it?” Dean asked, voice soft as not to wake Sammy.

John chuckled gently, “I got it kid.”

Dean climbed out of bed and was at his father’s side in an instant, helping him remove his jacket and examining the cut on his cheek. It wasn’t deep. Dean went to the bathroom and grabbed the first aid kit, before sitting down across from his father, clicking on the tiny tabletop lamp.

“So?” Dean asked as he began cleaning the blood from his father’s wound, “How did everything go?”

“Fine, once I got the sonofabitch.” John said, grabbing the half-empty bottle of whiskey off the table and pulling a swig into his lips. He glanced at the sleeping Sam, then back to Dean, “How was school the past few days?”

“Good.” Dean replied as he put the finishing touches on the cotton bandage over John’s cheek, “Sammy actually got a plaque for_ Student of the Month_ yesterday.”

“That’s my boy.” John replied with a warm smile.

Dean looked at his feet, trying not to think about how his father never said stuff like that to him. He looked back up, finding his eyes resting on himself in the reflecting surface of the blank TV screen. The person looking back was a pathetic, sad loser. He grimaced, looking away.

Before he fully moved his gaze though, something caught his eye. His brows creased, eyes widening as he noticed his father's reflection. His eyes, though only caught for a second as he moved his head to grab something, glowed a pale yellowy-silver.

_Shapeshifter._

Sweat beaded down Dean’s neck as he watched the shifter wearing his dad’s skin get up from the table and walk toward the kitchenette. He’d faced monsters a few times before, as backup for his dad, but he’d certainly never been alone with one, or this close. More importantly, what did this mean for his dad? Was John even alive? If so, where the hell was he?

He was reminded of something his dad had told him when he first explained the hunting thing to Dean, years ago. He swore that he’d never let the monsters get them.

_Dad promised…_ Dean thought selfishly, _he promised he’d never let a monster get this close to Sam._

Dean’s mind was working a mile a minute; going into overdrive. What was he supposed to do? So far it hadn’t made any moves to attack, but who knows how long that would last. Wherever he was, John wasn’t going to get here to save them.

_Silver. Silver kills shapeshifters_.

He needed to get to the closet on the top shelf, where John stored a hefty arsenal of weaponry. Except, how the fuck was he going to do this with this thing gallivanting freely all over the motel room?

“So Dad.” Dean said, forcing a casual tone into his voice as he rose from the table and moved in the general direction of the closet, “Sam and I were wondering if we could go to Uncle Bobby’s for Thanksgiving this year.”

John’s voice came out a bit curt, but with forced pleasantry veiling it, “Oh we’ll see. That’s still a few weeks away.”

Dean knelt down beside the closet, acting like he was looking for something. He could feel the shifter’s eyes on his back as the older man’s body turned to stare in Dean’s direction. It was growing suspicious, he could tell. Dean knew in moments, the thing would be attacking. He wondered why it hadn’t already.

He was out of time. There was no point in subtlety now. His only move was to yank open the closet door and hope he was faster than the shifter. Hands trembling, he pulled the closet door open and reached for the box on the top shelf, only to be thrown backward before he could grab it.

His back hit the wall and he cried out in pain, landing in a heap on the floor. Now, Sam was awake, sitting up on the futon and rubbing sleep out of his eyes with confusion.

“Dean, Dad?” he mumbled, “what’s going on?”

“Sam, _run_!” Dean cried out, scrambling to his feet to intercept the shifter on it’s path to Sam.

The younger boy quickly threw off his sheets and sprinted for the door. The shifter went to grab him, but Dean charged forward and tackled it to the ground. Then began a squabble for control as they wrestled on the modly red carpet. Sam exited the motel room and slammed the door shut.

The shifter sat up, growling in anger as it shoved Dean off to make for the door, following Sam.

“Stop it!” Dean insisted, grabbing the shifter’s arm, “you can take me! Leave him alone!”

The shifter turned to Dean with a cold expression. He watched his father’s face contort to a cruel smirk, “I don’t want _you_.” it snarled.

Of course. All of the victims the shifter had taken were example kids. Athletes, nerds, successes. That’s why it wanted Sam, not Dean.

“Why are you doing this?” Dean demanded, not relenting his grip on the things arm as it tried to shove him off.

The grin only widened on its face, “All these perfect little kids, living their perfect lives and becoming perfect adults. It’s sickening. I was perfect once too, but_ now_ I’m a freak.”

Dean’s brows furrowed in confusion, “You mean...you weren’t always like this?”

Finally, the shifter threw Dean backward again, and he crashed into the metal table across the room, groaning in pain. The sharp sting in his ribs assured him that at least two were broken, and he could feel the bruises forming on his limbs already. He looked up to see that the shifter was at the motel door, struggling to get it open again. Dean frowned in confusion at that, but decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

There was no way he could make it across the hotel room to get the silver blades without this thing seeing and stopping him, but he had landed on Sam’s backpack, which gave him an idea. Moving fast, he reached in and pulled out Sam’s _Student of the Month_ plaque. It was heavy in his hands, engraved in cursive letters. And, just as he’d hoped, made with silver.

Cheap silver, but silver nonetheless.

“Hey, skin sack!” Dean shouted as he clamored to his feet, alerting the attention of the thing as it angrily pounded on the door.

“Alright, I was just gonna kill him, but I’ve had enough of _you_ too.” It turned and was in front of Dean so fast, he felt whiplash smack into his head. The thing grabbed him by the throat and shoved him into the wall, but Dean kept his grasp on the plaque, eyes wide as the shifter began choking him.

“Why are the disappointments always so desperate to prove themselves?” it seethed, grip tightening on Dean’s throat, “Why can’t you just be happy with your mediocrity? You’re no good for anything, and you never will be.”

Dean’s lip curled up in anger at the words coming out of his Dad’s mouth. He knew it was the shifter talking, not John, but there was a ring of truth to the things he said.

And it pissed him off.

“Suck my balls!” Dean hissed out a phrase he’d heard before from his Uncle Bobby, really wishing something more scathing had come out. Nonetheless, he garnered all his strength and smashed the plaque into the shifter’s forehead

. It cried out, collapsing to the ground and grabbing it’s head in pain, releasing Dean in the process. Dean bashed it over the head again, relishing in the sound of it’s cries. He hit the shifter again, and again, and again. Blood splattered out from it’s shattered skull, staining Dean’s pajamas and mimicking his freckles with a pattern of maroon spots. He smashed the plaque into its head until finally, the face was unrecognizable as his father’s, or anyone for that matter.

The boy stepped back, breathing hard as he stared down, wide-eyed at his first real kill. The body that looked like his father was destroyed, and he was covered in blood. Dean wanted to keel over and vomit at the sight, but there was no time. Sam had run out during the fight, he needed to find him and make sure he was safe. Then they had to track down John.

Dean moved for the front door, surprised when it opened with ease. He stepped out onto the porch and noticed the small end table that decorated the front entryway had been knocked over, the knick knacks spilled out onto the deck. Standing behind it, was Sam, eyes wide with fear. Dean smiled as he noticed the small silver elephant statues on the stand, and realized that his brother had pushed the end table up against the door to prevent the shifter from getting out.

The boys rushed forward at the same time and embraced each other, breathing heavily. Dean buried his face in Sam’s hair, squeezing him tight and assuring himself that the other boy was okay.

“Are you alright Sam?” he asked worriedly.

“_Me_?” The boy shook his head, “I’m fine Dean! You’re covered in blood and bruises, are _you_ alright?!”

Dean took his brother’s face in his hands,”I’m good Sammy. As long as you’re okay, I’m very good.”

“Is it dead?” Sam asked, leaning into the doorway to try and get a peek at the thing.

Dean pushed his shoulders back and closed the door. “Don’t look in there. Yeah Sam, he’s gone. Thanks to you!” He nudged his younger brother's shoulder proudly, “Good thinking blocking the door with the silver knicknacks.”

Sam’s shoulders sagged in relief, “I didn’t want you to die, Dean. Dad almost got you killed.”

“It wasn’t Dad, it was a shifter Sam.”

Sam crossed his arms belligerently, “The shifter that _Dad_ was hunting. And he let it get to us. And it almost got us both killed.”

Dean sat down sluggishly against the motel room door, sighing, “Sam...please. I’m tired.”

Sam sat beside him, but said nothing else.

* * *

John returned home a few hours later as the sun was rising, to find his boys still waiting on the porch for him. He explained that the shifter knocked him out and got away during a fight. He didn’t apologize for it getting to the boys, but he did tell them they did a good job. That was something.

John got the room cleaned up and the evidence disposed of, then turned his attention to Dean’s injuries. He suspected Dean had a few broken ribs, and wrapped him up tight with ace bandages. He cleaned the boys cuts and bruises and told him he was officially a hunter now.

Dean couldn’t feel anything but awful dread at those words. He’d expected that to be a proud moment, he was finally going to start teetering his way to being an equal with his dad. However, it just reminded him that nights like this were all he had to look forward to.

John didn’t want to stay after tonight, and neither did the boys really. So a few days later they were packed up and on the road again to a new town. John had gotten wind of a poltergeist in the next state, so they were going to check it out.

Normally, Dean would’ve been excited about the possibility of a new hunt, but today he was just tired.

A few hours into their drive, John told Dean to take over so he could nap. He only allowed Dean to drive the Impala on rare occasions, so Dean jumped at the chance. Despite the awfulness of the incident with the shifter, it had seemed to make John a little more trusting of Dean. He couldn’t help but be happy about that.

“How ya doin’ back there Sammy?” Dean asked, glancing at his brother in the rearview mirror after John had fallen asleep.

Sam shrugged noncommittally.

Dean sighed, “Sorry we had to leave kid, I know you liked that school.”

Sam just nodded.

Dean tried again, “Hey, at least you didn’t have to write that stupid essay, huh?”

The shaggy-haired boy bit his lip, glancing up at his older brother, “I actually did write it. After dinner while you were in the shower before the...before the thing happened, I got it finished up. But I’m just gonna toss it anyway, since I don’t have to turn it in.”

“Oh.” Dean nodded, but Sam didn’t seem in a chatty mood, so he didn’t press the issue.

About two hours later, they stopped to gas up at a mart in some flyover town. John took Sam in to get some food and use the restroom while Dean gassed the car up. He noticed Sam’s school binder in the backseat, and his interest got the better of him. He pulled out a few pieces of notebook paper with Sam’s familiar neat handwriting, and quickly scanned the document.

_ **My Brother Dean ** _

_ **We all have someone we admire. Lots of us look up to celebrities, or athletes, and historical figures. But the person I admire most isn’t one of these famous heroes: it’s my big brother Dean. ** _

_ **Dean is who I admire most, because he is a very good person. Our mom died a long time ago, and our dad works a lot, so that means my brother has to take care of me, himself, and sometimes even our dad. I know that it’s hard sometimes, because he has to do a lot for me. He feeds me all my meals, and he helps me do my homework before he even starts his own, and he always protects me. ** _

_**My brother Dean never does anything just for him. He is the most selfless person you’ll ever meet, and he’s really funny too. I hope one day I can be as cool as him, and as smart and strong. He is the most amazing person I know, and if I grow up to be like him even a little, I know I’m lucky. I have the best big brother in the world, and he is destined for great things. If you are ever lucky enough to meet him, you’ll think so too**. _

Dean stopped reading, setting the paper back in Sam’s binder and sliding it back into place in the backseat. His hands were trembling, nose wrinkling as he resisted the urge to allow the sniffling tears to flow freely. He noticed his brother and dad exiting the gas station, and quickly turned to remove the hose from the Impala, blinking rapidly.

“Alright Dean,” John clapped his son on the shoulder, “Ready to get back on the road?”

“Sure thing Dad.”

This time, John took the wheel and Dean opted to sit in the back with Sammy, something he hadn’t done in a while. They played a few rounds of war with a deck of cards Dean had swiped from a convenience store a year earlier. They pulled through a fast food restaurant for dinner, and continued on. John smiled at them in the backseat, hanging out and talking as he drove.

“You two are thick as thieves tonight.” He said after a little while of just the boy’s conversation filling the quiet, “Guess hunting that thing brought you together, huh?”

Dean glanced at his little brother, who looked back at Dean with earnest, awed eyes.

He smiled once at Sam, then looked back to his father, “Nah. We don’t need hunting to do that.”

Sam smiled, and squeezed Dean’s arm. Dean leaned against the car door and kicked his feet up, resting them on Sammy’s knees as he stretched out. He figured if the kid thought Dean never did anything for himself, maybe he oughtta owe him a foot rub or two.

“Sammy, rub ‘em.” He pointed to his sock-clad feet

. “Ew!” Sam shoved Dean’s feet off of him, “I’m not touching those toxic stompers!”

The three of them laughed, and as Dean looked out at the stars above whirring past them, he knew his father was wrong; hunting wasn’t what made them close. Sam was Dean’s best friend, and no matter how things had come together to shape their relationship this way, he wouldn’t trade it for the world. Because even when John wasn’t there for them, they always had each other.

And for now, that was enough.


End file.
